


a prince among thieves

by BannedBloodOranges



Category: Treasure Island (2012), Treasure Island - Fandom
Genre: Consensual, Dom/sub, F/M, Loving relationships, M/M, Polyamory, Slight Dubious Morality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 10:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14103690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BannedBloodOranges/pseuds/BannedBloodOranges
Summary: Months later, the boy appears at their door, their fine inn with the new paint and black beams. On his back he carries a satchel heaving with gold, and naught else but the clothes on his back.They don’t even bother to make up the spare bed.





	a prince among thieves

**Author's Note:**

> I had this rattling around for ages. The idea stuck with me when I saw this version of Treasure Island and wouldn't leave. 
> 
> Non Profit fun only.

Long John is a decent sort, not the kind of sort to seek pleasure below deck, not with his beloved back home waiting all pretty in her rags and ribbons. No, Long John is a decent sort, always fair, a true diplomat if ever one there was on the seas.

The boy is all tender, all innocence, all those sweet cuts of meat you get hangin’ fresh for the rich to eat and the poor to salivate. Just eighteen and a fine thing really, too fine for the likes of him, but when has that ever stopped him?

It is not his place to question how the boy has attached himself to him, big blue eyes and unmarked skin, tremblin’ and pale beneath his shirt, pale and tremblin’ beneath his hands as he swayed cruelly in a rich man’s world. Even the missus had dropped her gaze down the boy’s back and had touched his chest and said she'd liked the new boy.

The new boy. Silver liked that. The new boy, serving quick and careful in his new establishment, dressed well and kept well. A boy who'd shave Silver’s head and wash the missus’s feet. A boy who’d carry plates and bring fine cheese and wine on silver platters. A boy who'd lace up Alibe’s corset and put silk shoes over her stockings. A boy who could drive the carriage and support him down with his pearl tipped crutch.

A boy he could take to bed, a boy who could service Alibe as kindly as she serviced others not so long back.

These designs are all fantasy, of course. The boy has a life and mother somewhere, is possibly looking for a father figure to help him make sense of the demons sleeping below this ship, even if he harks with ol’ John Silver, is the biggest demon of them all. But fantasy is fantasy and what does it hurt if he asks the boy to do things, little things, like fetch his boots and carry the crockery and shave his head when the hair starts to fur again. Jim Hawkins in his, after all, although Silver never believed in keeping men, but Jimmy is assigned to him by the squire and Johnny is the only thing keeping the boy from the cold blunt edge of someone’s knife.

It would be nice for Alibe, too. Someone to fuss over, someone to keep. Kind of like a pet really.

* * *

 

 

The boy gets him out, creeps him down the riggings and rope and hands him food and the rest of the gold, as if it be nothing. As if his future wouldn’t go to the dogs if puritan Smollett saw him waving off a pirate to the coast. But that be nothing, for the boy is a prince among thieves, and Silver thinks as he rows away, he would treat him such, if the boy ever comes knockin’. He would be a good master, a kind one, he reckons, and Alibe is enough of a lady to treat him nicely.

Months later, the boy appears at their door, their fine inn with the new paint and black beams. On his back he carries a satchel heaving with gold, and naught else but the clothes on his back.

They don’t even bother to make up the spare bed.

 

* * *

 

Bound to each bedpost and blindfolded, open to them to do with as they wish. Alibe, a princess in jewels and fine silks, a dream if ol’ Johnny ever had one, makes the most use of him, hitching her skirts and dipping her sex into his mouth. She strokes his hair and talks so kind and true, and the boy does a grand job, really, considering he being pure in body and innocent to ways of both men and women.

It’s been a while since Johnny had a man, the occasional willing crewmate no exception. He tells the boy in his pleasant cook voice to clean thoroughly, to wipe up between his legs, and the boy does so, too quick and easy, not knowing the secret codes yet, those rags of ritual. Alibe takes him upstairs, and eats him with her eyes, all those tender little places he has, and she kisses him sweet and tells him to lie down. He’d worked hard that day, in the garden and kitchen and at their feet. He is half asleep when she binds his hands, and when he wakes, he’s as sightless as Pew beneath his blindfold and Alibe is there, stroking down his chest, beckoning Johnny over.

 “Jimmy.” John says, wetting his fingers in oil. “Jimmy, you alright, lad?”

The boy is confused but also erect. Alibe leans back beside the boy, levelling John with her eyes. She whispers in Jimmy’s ear, and with a look at Johnny, nods.

The boy is all virgin heat, all squirmy and vocal as John fixes his fingers into him, scissoring out and in. Long John is patient and fair, he makes it as easy as he can, and he fucks the boy boneless. Alibe feathers the boy’s length but doesn’t take in hand. The boy has got to learn, has got to be trained accordingly. His needs and wishes are all well and good but he’s got to take what they give him as good enough.

The blindfold is soaked with tears. The boy finishes before Long John – all that youthful energy, that – and shudders long after John is finished.

They remove the bonds and blindfold and John cleans him slow, careful. The boy twitches like a frightened rabbit beneath the flannel but he still looks up at them both, a look that is almost holy, and John knows it is love.

To have riches is less than he deserves, less then what his Alibe deserves. They deserved to live like kings in grand houses and estates, and that is what they have. Through blood and death, sure, through thieving and plunder, but they took what the rich wouldn’t give them even on Judgement day.

But that love is something else. It’s a contract, that. Alibe wrings out her hair that night, pleating it together beneath her dainty knuckles, and she says they have to look after that boy, Johnny. He came to us and saved us and he have to look after him, now.

Alibe always said he was a decent man and a decent man he is. The boy sleeps in the bed that night, his arms around Alibe’s stomach, ochre and cockle skin, tangled together. Johnny kisses them both, marveling at the heat of them all crushed like sovereigns in a tomb, safe from the eyes of the outside world, safe from the gutter that would soon swallow them all up again.

Jim’s mother haunts the door on Sunday nights. Jim is ruddy and full of smiles and stories. He flits between them like a bird, ignorant of her hunting eyes.

Captain Flint caws and screams behind his bars.

Johnny drops the curtain on the cage, and that is that.

 

 

 


End file.
